


He Doesn't Play Much, But When He Does, He Plays For Keeps

by Rrrowr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels Are Known, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angel Mating, Grooming, M/M, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Rituals, Misunderstandings, Seduction, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: AU. A world where angels are the ruling class, and they often take humans as their mates/consorts. Dean & Sam have only had each other since their parents died, but Dean is chosen to serve as Gabriel's consort and Sam is left on his own. Determined to find a way to be near Dean again, he sets out to attract the notice of the only member of Gabriel's flock who doesn't have a mate: Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Doesn't Play Much, But When He Does, He Plays For Keeps

_Consort_.

They said it was an honor to be chosen. It meant life-long security, the best of everything — food, medicine, clothing — and pleasure unlike anything humans could experience alone, but it also meant you were no longer a member of your family. You belonged to the angel who chose you. You were bound to them and they, in turn.

 _You should be proud_ , they said as Gabriel — the Archangel, one of the four most powerful in the world — stalked along the long line of potential mates, scenting each of them and turning one after the other away before reaching Dean.

Dean, who was so strong and so smart. Dean, who hadn't wanted to become a mate — not because he didn't want the benefits but because he, like Sam, knew what it meant for them. Dean, who was nonetheless made to kneel and who disappeared within Gabriel's folded wingspan. As the shadow of Gabriel's wings took on the honeyed hue of a successful mating, congratulatory murmurs swelled around him, but as the rest of Gabriel's flock descended — their regalia glimmering in the sunlight — Sam heard none of it. His eyes were locked upon the bright gold of Gabriel's wings — the color of wealth and the sun overhead — and for the first time, he wished they would burn to ash for taking away the only family he had left.

By the time the ceremony dispersed, Sam had a plan in mind to get his brother back in the only way he knew how. Gabriel and his flock lived on the edge of town. A whole area of untamed land was walled off for the use of his family and had to be tended and cared for by human workers in order to keep some semblance of control. Sam could get in on that, easy; he was strong and young and well-educated. So he applied and hoped that this was going to be the first step toward getting his brother back.

Turned out that getting in? Even easier than Sam thought. Barely a week later and he was standing in the the servants hall with twenty other applicants, but it seemed as if his work was cut out for him, here on out. Like Sam, they were all well-dressed and physically fit, but they also chatted amicably among one another, familiar faces all around. Sam was the odd one out, a stranger to these people and this system. A knot of dread settled heavily in Sam's gut; what if his plan was stuck here forever?

Then _he_ walked in.

Sam stood straight backed with the rest of them, but could not take his eyes of the newcomer, clearly their new superior. Dark hair. Sombre appearance. The way he shed his coat and gloves and left them in the arms of his footman was natural yet pointed — as if the sharp movements had been instilled in him from a young age. Perhaps they had, Sam thought, because it wasn't his demeanor that marked him as their superior but the spread of dark wings: he was an angel.

"I am called Castiel," said the angel. There were no titles among their kind, only names; aside from the Archangels, the members of the lower ranking class fluctuated so frequently that it was useless for Mankind to do anything but lump them all together. Castiel tugged at his cuffs, straightening the sleeves. "I conduct the household. Step forward for inspection, please."

No one batted a lash as they did as Castiel requested, but inwardly, Sam thought it a bit strange that Castiel was doing... well... _work_. Not to mention his wings. They were tucked neatly behind Castiel's back as he walked down the line of applicants, assigning or dismissing as he saw fit, but there was no hiding the lonely shade of his feathers. They were as dark as smoke — as if someone had smudged ash all over them — and it struck Sam then that there was an opportunity here, one he hadn't expected.

An unmated member of Gabriel's house. Possibly the last one. Definitely Sam's last hope for a more permanent position near his brother.

Castiel's nostrils flared when he stepped to Sam. An angel didn't have to ask questions in order to know a person; they simply looked — sliding in as easily as a knife, paring out the information they wanted, and bypassing the messy humanity of lies and flattery to get to the truth. A pair of blue eyes — too true a blue to be human — looked deeply into his, and Sam waited for it to hurt, for it to feel invasive. The feeling never came.

Ah," said Castiel, wings ruffling briefly. "Winchester." A small smile touched the corner of his mouth, but the realization of Sam's identity did not seem to affect the rest of his expression. Castiel slipped incrementally closer and breathed, taking a long pull of Sam's scent in a way he hadn't with the others. "Yes," he said, "you'll be working with me."

Sam shuddered faintly. He couldn't believe his luck.

*

Castiel was a quiet and efficient worker. He ran the house openly and made himself available so servants would be able to find him when they needed help. For the most part, he was a problem solver and a planner. He arranged all the in-house ceremonies, made the staff aware of incoming visitors, and ensured that the house was always stocked and ready for company. As far as Sam could tell, Castiel did it because he liked keeping busy, which was more than Sam could say for the others in Castiel's family.

As for Sam... He did nothing. Castiel gave him no instructions. He made no demands. It was Castiel's footman, Chuck, who made sure he knew where his room was and that he was to be at Castiel's side before breakfast each morning unless told otherwise. Sam helped Chuck because he didn't know what else to do. He didn't want to be standing there, doing nothing, so he passed Chuck clothing as he helped Castiel dress and he served food at dinner and he ran errands.

He did what he could to seem useful. He didn't want Castiel to have any reason to send him away, but while Castiel would watch him — hawkishly, with a gaze that lingered and picked him apart even from a distance — he did not give orders. It was as if he was waiting for Sam to snap under the pressure because he seemed unsurprised when Sam lingered one evening after Chuck bid him goodnight. 

"Did you need something?" Castiel asked. 

For a moment, Sam didn't speak as he picked over his words. Castiel was fresh from his bath. His hair was dark and curling around his face, and his body was draped in a robe of soft linen, belted loosely around his waist and scooping across his shoulders. Were it not for the black of his wings, it would be as if a Renaissance painting had taken life. Castiel looked up from his books — the handful of new ones that Sam had brought from the library when Chuck had given him to rest to return to the shelves — and his gaze cut right through Sam's hesitation. The words burst out of him.

"Why am I here?"

The soft half-smile that Castiel wore so often when he looked at Sam appeared again. "You are here because you wish to be close to my brother's consort and kidnap him if necessary," he said. "The question you mean to ask is why I allow you to remain when your motives for serving me are so—" He paused, searchingly, "— _dissolute_."

Sam stepped forward. If Castiel knew everything, there was no reason to hide. "Please," he said. "Dean's all I have. I just want to see him, make sure he's happy. Please, don't send me away."

Castiel's wings bristled, shedding droplets of water. "I'm not sending you anywhere," he said, "but I can't risk you disappearing with a member of my family in tow."

"He's _my_ brother," Sam cut in, ferociously protective.

"Not anymore, he's not," Castiel replied smoothly and then shifted his books to one hand so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't have time to explain the details of a mating bond to you when you're already aware of how unbreakable they are. It's the reason for your second plan, isn't it? Seducing me into choosing you as my consort."

Castiel circled around his desk, wings splaying slightly. The longest feathers brushed against Sam's knee as Castiel moved right past him. "Yes," he said. "I saw that too, Sam. I hope you'll understand if I don't leap at the prospect of a mate who doesn't even want me."

Sam turned to look at him. Castiel was standing next to the door, books tucked into his elbow and definitely waiting for Sam to leave his sitting room. Sam took the first few steps that would comply with Castiel's unspoken order, but when they drew abreast, he paused. "You've known this since that first day?" he asked.

Blue eyes blinking as if taken aback by Sam continuing to speak, Castiel tilted his head to the side. "I have," he said.

"Why don't you send me away then? Why let me work here at all?"

Brows drawing together tightly, Castiel lowered his eyes and then turned away altogether. "Goodnight, Sam."

*

If Castiel was surprised by Sam turning up for work the next morning, he didn't show it, but while Chuck was busy working with his cufflinks, Castiel looked at the bundle of letters in Sam's hands and said: "Read them to me."

At first, Sam fumbled with them. Chuck glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and smiled reassuringly. Soon, Sam was sifting through Castiel's mail, reading invitations and pamphlets and personal letters aloud, and each word came with a growing sense of unease. While the invitations and pamphlets were no problem, the letters were something else. When he got to them, Sam hesitated.

"Are you sure you want me to read them?" he asked. "They're private."

"Was I unclear?" Castiel asked, and as Sam shook his head and uneasily started opening the envelopes, he went on: "Considering the manner of your interview, I'm surprised you bother asking. Not to mention our public mating ceremonies." His gaze slid over. "Continue."

There was nothing exceptionally private in the letters, it turned out. Mostly it was inquiries after the house and business from Michael — an Archangel of another House — and from Anna, subtle queries on Castiel's relationship status. Family things. Still, they weren't things that made it into the media. No one worried about succession — angels had long, _long_ lives and shared them with their consorts — and while an angel taking a consort was rare enough to warrant a lot of attention, the media had a lot more to go on with humans. When Sam finished, he looked up from the pages — feeling exceptionally nervous for having new insight into how Castiel and his family cared for each other. Chuck was brushing off of Castiel's shoulders and straightening his tie. Castiel was not paying Sam the least bit of attention.

"I'd like to ride out today. Inspect the wall," Castiel announced, reaching out only to take his mail from Sam's lax grip. Beside him Chuck stammered, murmuring about not knowing how to ride a horse. "I remember," Castiel said, "but Sam does. Sometime this afternoon?"

"Yes," Chuck said immediately, relieved apparently at not having to attend Castiel on horseback. "We can do that."

Later, after Chuck had hurriedly led Sam to the stables and pointed out where all the gear and horses were — "Everyone's labeled. You can figure it out from here, right?" — Sam was on a huge thoroughbred, trotting easily behind Castiel. It was a little odd to think of an angel on a horse; Sam had half-thought they would just fly, what with the wings and all, but when they'd first set out to look at the perimeter, Castiel had spread his wings only for balance, urging his horse into a light gallop and forcing Sam to rush to keep up. For the past two hours, however, Castiel hadn't done more than lead the way, and Sam was forced to watch the flick and flutter of his wings, the straight line of his back, the way the sunlight caught in the air around him as if it meant to kiss his skin above all others.

"Castiel?" he called. Ahead of him, Castiel turned and brought his horse to a stop. Sam waited until he was even with Castiel before pulling on the reins. "Is there something I should be doing?"

"If I require anything, I'll tell you," Castiel told him plainly and then began nudging his horse back into movement. He threw the remainder of his words over his shoulder. "You humans are full of contradictions. We've been alone for hours without you taking advantage of it. I thought you were here to seduce me!"

Sam followed quickly. "I thought you didn't want me to."

"I don't recall saying so," Castiel said cryptically and gently flicked the hindquarter of his steed with his riding crop. "Hurry! We're almost done."

With their horses pushed to a canter, Sam chased Castiel all the way back to the stables, more unsure than ever before of what he was doing. The sight of his wings and his back moving was almost like true flight, as if he were running in haste, but between the delicate rise of feathers, Castiel's face turned over his shoulder with a smile on it. Running, yes, Sam thought — but not fleeing. He was making sure that Sam was still in pursuit.

*

Over the course of the next few days, the house was busy welcoming Gabriel and Dean back from their family tour. The tour was a custom Sam hadn't known about when he'd arrived, but whatever — what was important was that he got to glimpse Dean through the throng of angels bleeding through the woodwork to greet him. There were parties to be thrown and food to be served, and Castiel made sure that Sam was in the thick of it — kept so busy that he knew that Castiel was worried about him getting near Dean. Sam saw glimpses anyway, and what he saw made him pensive.

Dean looked happy — unconcerned in a way that Sam couldn't remember him ever being before his mating to Gabriel — and every time Sam thought about approaching, Dean would smile or laugh as he brushed off the affectionate attentions of his new family. It felt strange, suddenly, to deny Dean that happiness or to go to him, hoping that he'd be willing to do the impossible by breaking his mating bond and running off. They were family, no matter what the law said now, and Sam didn't want to be the one that dragged Dean back into the uncertainty of their former lives, even if it meant that Sam was on his own now.

Sam turned his focus back to the party, stayed late to help break down the outdoor decorations after the angels and their guests had moved inside, and wondered if Dean worried about him. For all he knew, the mating bond really did cut all former sense of family away. Maybe if he approached him, Dean would see him as nothing more than an old friend, with nothing about _brother_ or _blood_ reflecting in his expression.

"Don't be stupid," Castiel snapped at him that evening as Sam readied him for bed. Sam was on his own tonight and while he'd been lacing the backing of Castiel's robe around the roots of his wings, he'd let slip his concerns. "We're _angels_. We have no use for companions that are anything less than what they already are."

"Well then why—" Sam breaks off, chewing at his lip. He holds the final lengths of the laces in his hands before tying them in a bow. "Why does it seem like he's not worried about me? He wouldn't... _forget_."

Looking up, Sam met Castiel's gaze in the mirror. It was the same, striking blue as always, yet this time it seemed to hold a kind of warmth. "You Winchesters," he murmured. "The both of you are very lucky."

Sam broke away, uncomfortable, and went so far as to start straightening up the accessories table to keep from meeting Castiel's undecipherable gaze. Nonetheless, he muttered, "It doesn't feel like it," with a bitterness that surprised him.

"If you say so," Castiel agreed quietly, but when Sam continued to be sullen and silent, he touched his elbow. "Look at me, Sam."

"I don't want to," Sam said, knowing what looking into Castiel's eyes meant, but when soft fingers touched his cheek, Sam did look and willingly sank into the quiet blue of Castiel's gaze.

"I see." Castiel cupped Sam's face with both hands. His wings dropped out behind him like a train and then swept around them. Sam felt distinctly as if he were being hugged, swallowed up in the heavy darkness of Castiel's wings. It was warm here, and so was Castiel as he leaned in, breathing in with a soft flutter of his lashes. "You're lonely."

"It's not as simple as that," Sam whispered, but he accepted the comfort he was being given. 

He folded into Castiel's open arms and buried his face into the crook of his neck. He let Castiel pet him and hold his shoulders and nose softly along the side of his face. In return, Sam gently rested his hands at Castiel's waist. The nightgown under his palms was a silken cotton and somewhat heavy, but Sam could still feel the compact body underneath it. Were it not for the pervading sense of comfort and the wings, Sam might've thought he was holding onto one of his own kind, but as Castiel's fingers pulled soothingly at the knots along his spine, Sam was glad Castiel wasn't. 

It felt good to be held by an angel — felt good to have his senses filled with something sweet and dappled in sunlight, like every inch of Castiel's body was built to relax Sam and make his mouth water with hunger. As Castiel inhaled gently at the spot behind his ear, Sam returned the favor with a gasp, teeth parting to take in a bit of Castiel's skin as he wondered if all angels were like this — if they all came installed with this sense of home and _love_ —

Castiel made a sudden noise and withdrew by several steps. Hands clasping empty air, Sam very nearly buckled, torn between the instinct to follow and the rational understanding that he shouldn't. He stared after Castiel for a long time before straightening on his own. His whole body was tingling with oversensitivity, his nerves searching for an angel's presence and getting confused when there was nothing to find. 

It was unsettling to blink back to awareness and know that he'd been so close to marking Castiel up with bite marks. It was more unsettling to realize that, despite being back in control, he couldn't think of a single reason why he didn't want to make Castiel his in some way. Sam's only consolation was that Castiel's hands were shaking minutely at his sides because the angel's eyes betrayed nothing, and for a moment, Sam wanted nothing more than to see—

"Goodnight, Sam," Castiel said pointedly. He was already moving — not toward the door to the hallway as he had the first time he'd kicked Sam out, but toward the door that led to his bedroom — and with each backward step he took, he never took his eyes off Sam. "l'll see if I can arrange a meeting for you with Dean tomorrow."

Then with one last lingering look, Castiel was gone.

*

Sam woke up the following morning aching and cramped. He didn't know why; he hadn't done nearly enough physical labor yesterday to warrant it, but his body was stiff when he moved to get ready for the day. His thoughts moved to Castiel immediately, wondering if he would make good on his promise from last night — wondering if maybe it was a good idea at all. Sam didn't want to make Dean feel guilty for being happy if he had moved on, and if Dean didn't remember... Well, there were some things Sam just didn't want to know, and he'd feel better if Castiel knew that.

When he neared Castiel's room, however, Chuck and one of the maids were already bustling out of the door with the remains of breakfast. Chuck beckoned when he saw Sam and then led him back to the servants' quarters, saying: "There are big plans for you today, so consider this your day off." He dove into Sam's dresser, rifling through his clothes. "Do you have anything nice?"

"What's going on?" Sam asked. "Why didn't you get me, if Castiel was up early?"

"He told me not to," said Chuck flatly as he pulled out a folded but rumpled suit from the bottom drawer. His expression was a bit frazzled as he shook it out. Sam had felt his shoulders droop, but it wasn't until Chuck cast him a sympathetic look that he realized how upset he felt about Castiel not wanting to see him. "Hey, don't— don't make that face, okay? I'm sure he had his reasons and that they have nothing to do with, you know... whatever it is you two are doing."

"What." Sam boggled for a second. "We're not — Cas and I aren't doing anything. Really. He's helping me get my brother back."

Chuck nodded as he put the suit on a hanger. "Sure, whatever. It's none of my business and I'm sure I don't want to know. It doesn't matter. You're going to be eating brunch with him, Gabriel and Dean, and I need to you be presentable." He carried the suit into the bathroom, flipped on the shower, and closed the door behind him when he came back out empty-handed. "You'll be eating in the gazebo. Don't know what's gonna be served yet, but probably something light. Have you ever interacted with an angel other than Castiel before?"

Sam thought about that. He'd served them food and ran them errands, but he didn't really consider taking orders interaction. Castiel talked back. He liked the books Sam chose for him. He teased and smiled and touched and made Sam feel—

He shook his head. "Not really," he said. "Just him."

"Right," Chuck said after a brief pause. "Well, remember that they're really territorial. Don't piss 'em off, alright? If an Archangel thinks you're gonna take away what's his, he'll probably make you explode all over the furniture."

Sam laughed loudly before he realized that Chuck was giving him a wild-eyed and desperately earnest look. "What, seriously? Literally explode? Jesus." He tried to imagine how that worked. "But Castiel—"

Chuck made a dismissive scoff. "Castiel's great. It's Gabriel that you worry about. He's the one with the juice." He waved off Sam when he opened his mouth to ask more. "Look, play nice or something. I'm sure Castiel will make sure nothing happens to you. And Gabriel's pretty easy going for an Arch. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Still, when he'd decided it was time to leave, Chuck squeezed Sam's elbow and his arm and then turned away quickly. It felt a bit as if Chuck had said goodbye, and Sam sank into the nearest chair, suddenly wildly paranoid that he was going to die before the day was up.

*

The wrinkles steamed out of his suit. His pants were ironed, and so was his shirt. He shined his shoes so much Sam thought he could see his reflection in its surface. He was eager and terrified. As it was, Dean was someone Sam could deal with seeing under any circumstances, but an Archangel was a whole different prospect. Sam dressed swiftly at first, but then spent the following minutes making sure there were no stray threads or stains or missing buttons. He brushed his hair three times, wondering if he should leave it down or tie it back. Maybe he should go into town and get a haircut, but when he glanced at his watch, he realized there wasn't time. Then, he told himself he was being stupid because he'd seen Gabriel and he had hair as long as Sam's, maybe longer. 

He left his room because he couldn't stay cooped up. Chuck drove him away from the kitchens, and Sam didn't dare go to the stables because just you watch, he'd step in something or he'd get hay over his pants and he'd show up at lunch smelling like a horse and then Gabriel would turn his nose up and that'd be the end of Sam Winchester, right then and there. So, he went to the gazebo — already set up with mosquito netting, lace curtains for shade, and broad hammock sofas that stretched out on either side of a long table — and he waited there, pacing nervously as the seconds and minutes passed.

"Stop being stupid, Sam," he muttered as he scrubbed his sweaty hands on his pants, and realizing what he was doing, cursed and wiped them off on the sofa cushions instead. "Shit, I'm gonna die."

"Yes, that's precisely the mindset you should have before entering negotiations with Gabriel," remarked a familiar voice from the gazebo entrance. 

Sam whirled and saw Castiel holding aside one of the lace curtains to step past. His face was caught in shadow, but his eyes were still overbright despite that. Sam was incredibly grateful to see him in what would likely be his last moments if Gabriel was everything Chuck had indicated, and propriety be damned, it was so good to have Castiel near that Sam immediately moved to embrace him. He scooped Castiel close, nuzzling into his neck and sighing as all the tension melted away.

"God, Cas—"

Castiel made a tight, pained noise and hissed, "Stop this," as he pushed Sam back by the shoulders. His whole face was pinched when Sam let him go, and even as Sam moved away, Castiel's fingers caught at his sleeves. He held on, but guided Sam back until he sat on the hammock sofa. Then, he too sat but on the far end — not looking at Sam, not even trying to make eye contact. "I thought I would enjoy this, but I'm not. It feels very unpleasant, in fact." 

Caught off guard, Sam stammered. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

Though Castiel's sharp look got aborted halfway through it, the irritation carried over just fine in his snarled, "Don't ask stupid questions." He squared his shoulders and his wings tightened up against his back. "You're lonely and you miss your brother. I was willing to—" Castiel's lips thinned as he held back his words. "Today's meeting with Gabriel and Dean is as much for me as it is for you. If all goes well and you still... At least, I'd know."

Glancing quickly at Sam, Castiel seemed to catch sight of Sam's utterly bewildered expression. He sighed, exasperated, and said, "Close your eyes."

"What—"

Apparently in no mood for Sam's questions, Castiel simply reached out to cover his eyes for him. His hand was smooth against Sam's face and light, barely touching so that the minute tremble in his fingers tickled.

"I want you to think about what's about to happen," Sam heard Castiel say. "My brother and his consort are about to show up and negotiate with you about your involvement in Dean's life. It won't be what you had before and it might not be everything you want, but it would mean you're no longer lonely. You wouldn't have to force yourself to work here and you wouldn't have to be my mate to accomplish your goal." 

Castiel's breath hitched ever so slightly, and Sam couldn't tell what it meant, if it meant anything at all. He only knew that he hadn't heard that particular sound from Castiel before because Castiel was always impeccably in control of himself — except... maybe not for the past couple days...

"Are you thinking about that?" Castiel asked. His tone was so stern that Sam sort of switched mental gears very quickly in the direction he was supposed to go and said, "Yeah, yeah, I am," as he thought about going back to his old job and not having to deal with obscenely long hours and still being able to see his brother and being treated like a _guest_ in this house instead of a servant.

It was good, thinking about those things. His entire time here hadn't exactly been easy sailing. He didn't know what he was doing most of the time. All the other servants had years of experience under their belts — training in etiquette and clothing and cooking and culture and all kinds of stuff — while Sam sort of fumbled around on Chuck's heels, grateful for being useful and wildly confused about why Castiel had bothered hiring him after seeing everything that he had.

Just like that, Sam's thoughts changed gears again, leading him through murkier waters where he hid Castiel's smile and the color of his wings in sunlight and the way he ate through books within a few days. It was there that Sam stored the near-tender way he ran Gabriel's house, taking care to accommodate the needs of every person who worked for him, and the way his fingers had tightened over Sam's shoulders while he'd snuffled behind his ear. Castiel's scent was there too — the warm easiness that cottoned around all of Sam's broken parts — and so were his eyes and so was the aching, bright hope that being able to see Dean would mean being able to see Castiel as well.

Sam heard a rustle of fabric as Castiel scooted closer and pressed his hand more firmly against his eyes, making sure that he couldn't see. When Castiel's soft breath wafted over his lips, Sam angled himself more invitingly, sure in that instant they were going to kiss and that he wanted Castiel to do it.

Castiel hovered close for one second, two seconds, and then shifted to the side with a sigh. His hand fell from Sam's eyes, and then he was slipping away from Sam entirely, rising from his seat as someone entered the gazebo. Sam barely heard Castiel's voice as he greeted their newcomers; he was too caught up in the wave of longing that surged with every step Castiel took away from him, but then the words registered and Sam scrambled to his feet.

"Sam Winchester," Castiel was saying, gesturing and smiling in a way that was very unlike him — pretending, apparently, that they hadn't almost kissed less than a minute ago and absolutely not making eye contact as he made acquaintances. "Dean, of course, you know, but this is my brother, Gabriel, the Archangel of our house."

Gabriel was short was the first thing that popped into his head as he shook Gabriel's hand. Sam stood nearly a full head taller than him, and as he tried desperately not to make a comment about it aloud, he was taken aback by the shark's grin that overtook Gabriel's face — even more so when Gabriel said, "So _you're_ the kid that's trying to steal my consort away from me! You're about to make my life _very_ interesting."

*

Most of the negotiations went by in a dull blur. Dean was sitting across from him, looking as he always did in Sam's mind — sort of slumped and easy-going, with a charming smile on his face — and he didn't take his eyes off Sam, not once. Sam was aware of saying things, of asking questions and agreeing to some of Gabriel's stipulations, but mostly he was glad that it was going so smoothly. Gabriel was only interested in having his mate be happy, and so long as his time with Dean wasn't compromised and Sam didn't go around spilling sordid secrets about what went on when he visited, he had no problem with Sam coming and going as he saw fit. 

The only one who was silent during the negotiations was Castiel. Even Dean spoke up when he wanted to chime in on something that he wanted, but Sam saw Gabriel's attention shift to Castiel often. It occurred to Sam that he'd never seen Castiel speak with another angel. Dinners in the house were always lively, but that was usually because of the consorts or the guests. Perhaps angels didn't need to speak at all in order to communicate. If Castiel was saying anything to Gabriel, no indication was made. Castiel merely seemed to listen throughout, letting one of the footmen pour him glass after glass of tart lemonade and nibbling on small sandwiches, and though his wings sometimes twitched — feathers brushing against the back of Sam's arm and behind his hip — his gaze remained resolutely forward whenever Sam glanced over.

When the discussion started to wane, with none of them able to come up with further demands, Gabriel abruptly flopped toward Dean, leaning neatly into him and nuzzling close. "Well, I'm glad _that's_ over," he groused, hugging Dean with one tawny wing. They shared an affectionate look, and Gabriel sighed at the question in Dean's eyes, put out. "Fine, _fine_. I want to talk with Castiel anyway."

Sam felt more than saw the way Castiel startled, but when Gabriel rose, Castiel went with him and they stood off to the side, not speaking but bowed together. Sam stared after them for a bit before Dean suddenly dropped beside him.

"So, you comin' after me and all... That was nice of ya," Dean remarked — very manfully.

The well of affection that Sam had for his brother seemed to overflow, bleeding into his voice when he replied, "You're my brother. I couldn't leave you. Though—" here, he nodded toward Gabriel, "—you don't seem to need much rescuing."

Dean followed Sam's gaze, and a soft smile graced his face. Though he was smaller than Castiel and his wings, no bigger, Gabriel seemed to be entrenched in Big Brother mode. Sam could recognize Dean's body language in him — in the way he clasped Castiel's arm with one hand and had his other knotted in the hair at the nape of Castiel's neck. Castiel's face was screwed up tightly as if he were fighting some other expression, and he nodded at whatever Gabriel was telling him.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "It's uh, sort of weird. I didn't want it when I went, but then he was there and it was—" He paused, grimacing. "Look, let's not get mushy about it. It works, alright?"

"What is it like?" Sam didn't mean to ask. The question slipped out of his mouth before he'd realized, and it was only when Dean turned his amusement on him that Sam started feeling self-conscious. He pressed on anyway. "I mean, is it... Does it feel like he's influencing you or anything?"

Dean grinned like Sam's worries were the funniest thing he'd heard all day and sank back into the hammock's cushions. "No, it's like..." He gestured helplessly with both hands. "I have access to his memories — which, by the way, there are a fucking lot of — but it's like I've got someone in the back of my head all of the time."

Sam waited for his brother to say more, but Dean had lapsed fully into an introspective silence. His gaze was distant, fond, and Sam reached out to squeeze his shoulder. Dean came back to himself with a deep breath and said in a rush, "It's good. Real good."

"And you're happy?" Sam asked. He had to be sure.

Dean turned to him with a smile that was one stumbling step from turning into a laugh. "Yeah," he answered, sounding almost confused at the prospect. "I think I am."

*

What Sam expected from the meeting with Gabriel beyond what they agreed on, he wasn't sure. As the four of them meandered back to the main house, he was happy to chat with Dean about getting a new apartment and his old job and swinging back around as soon as he was settled. "And I'll probably stick around until Castiel finds someone to replace me," he mused as he squinted at the backs of the two angels ahead of them. "Not that I know why he hired me in the first place other than he said he wanted to keep an eye on me. It's not like I do anything other than help out here and there."

Dean made a noncommittal noise as he too looked toward Gabriel and Castiel, at their wings — the sharp contrast between their colors, the folded gold against curtained black. "Castiel's a good guy," he said. "Keeps to himself, but I doubt he'd kick you out of the house until you were settled somewhere else. Not when you're gonna be a regular guest and all."

Sam knew perfectly well that was true. Castiel had been nothing but nice to him — if a bit strict in the beginning and oddly aloof for the last day or so — and it was getting to be that Sam almost considered them to be friends, even as the slow roil in his gut reminded him that last night had nearly pushed them well beyond that kind of label. Not to mention the almost-kiss before negotiations. 

He touched his mouth absently as he thought. He didn't see the glance Dean cast him. Sam shook his head, saying, "I have plenty of time."

It was true, at least. A week passed before the last of the arrangements were made for his new life — renewed? — outside Gabriel's household, and on the seventh night, Sam took the stairs two at a time to get to Castiel's sitting room. He was running a little late. Chuck would probably already be helping Castiel into bed, but the light was on under the door. When Sam knocked and slipped in, he was greeted by the unusual sight of Castiel's wings, fully splayed and quivering as Chuck brushed them out.

"Oh," he murmured, shutting the door behind him very firmly.

Castiel was straddling a chair, whose design seemed made to support the particular curve of his body as he laid himself open for grooming. He blinked drowsily at Sam and flicked his fingers toward a tray of brushes on his desk. "There's a second one, if you want to help."

Sam tested the bristles of the brush he chose against his palm. It was a bit stiff but not uncomfortably hard, and when he put his hand on Castiel's wing like Chuck showed him, the feathers rose to meet him. He mimicked the actions Chuck did, taking hold of the top joint to steady the wing as he drew the brush along the feathers. 

Gradually, Chuck's instructions became more spaced out, and casual conversation welled up in the gaps — how the house was running, how interviews were going for Sam's replacement, and whether the winter decorations had been completely stored yet. Sam spoke little, lost in the repetitive sweep of the brush and the easy flex of the wing in his grip. Castiel's speech was a sleepy slur, and as their conversation began to lull, he let his head drop and his wings rise. Sam went still, distracted by the pale, exposed slope of Castiel's neck and the shadowed valley of his spine between his wings. 

"Chuck," said Castiel suddenly. "Take an early night. Sam can finish for you."

Startled, Chuck glanced at Sam. "Are you sure?"

Castiel nodded, pillowing his face in his arms. "He was late, after all."

Chuck departed with a bit more fuss, and Castiel waved him away while Sam kept grooming his wings. As soon as the door shut behind Chuck, quiet settled between the two of them, and Sam smoothed his fingers over the flat feathers that lay on the shoulder of his wing. They were like ink against his skin and silky to the touch, yet he could feel beneath them the lethargic muscles, tensed only to remain steady as Sam straightened out the tangled feathers. The longer Sam looked, the more colors seemed to appear amidst all the black — fractal patterns of blue and silver along the edges and a blood-red hue at the roots.

"It's a shame that you'll lose this color when you choose a consort," mused Sam. Then, realizing that he was probably being rude, he amended quickly: "Not that the gold will look bad. It's just that this is really nice too."

Making a little hum of agreement, Castiel turned to look at Sam over his shoulder, still resting his cheek in the crook of his elbow. "Technically, these wings are supposed to attract a mate, so they're designed to be beautiful and impressive. Afterward, the color isn't necessary," he said. He rolled his shoulders, extending his wings, and Sam stepped back to give him room. "It's not usually required in this day and age, of course, but—"

With a movement so sharp that there was actually a snap in the air, Castiel's wings reached for the ceiling, feathers flaring and reflecting the red glare of the sunset outside. In that instant, Sam imagined those wings catching fire, burning as he'd fantasized Gabriel's burning once, but remaining brilliant and bright instead of turning to ash. The image was so vivid that Sam's breath caught, and Castiel watched him carefully through thinly slitted eyes.

He held a hand out to Sam. "Come," he said and guided Sam to the floor between him and the window. 

Castiel's wings seemed to take up even more room from this angle, fully aflame in a rich sunset orange, yet as they drew around Sam's shoulders, it felt as if he were being locked into a midnight darkness where the only light was Castiel himself. Distantly, Sam felt fingers against his cheek, but he didn't even blink as they touched along his cheekbone. All of his sight was centered on the blue of Castiel's eyes; he felt as if he were drowning in them, yet he couldn't bring himself to care when the sensation of being towed under was, in every respect, pleasant.

"Do you see?" Castiel asked, voice pitched low and gut-stirringly wonderful. 

Sam did, which begged the question: "Why haven't you mated yet? You've probably had half a billion opportunities by now."

"I've had many chances," admitted Castiel easily as he ducked his fingers under Sam's chin and tilted his face up ever so slightly. "It was never right. That sort of commitment needs to feel right."

"You never get confused?" Sam asked. "You don't worry that you're feeling lust or that someone is better off as a friend?"

Castiel tilted his head to the side, as if the idea of mistaken mating was interesting but inconceivable. "Angels don't feel lust in the way humans do. It's only with our consort," he explained. His fingers teased at the vulnerable belly of Sam's jaw, drawing him in. "Consorts are special. The gamble is not so great for a consort. Angels do not stray."

Castiel seemed to loom over him, wings pulling around Sam's shoulders so tightly that the feathers swept across his shoulder blades. The caress was so immediately intimate that Sam shivered, leaning in as he remembered their near-kiss and wishing he hadn't waited until this moment to want to continue it. Though there was nothing but comfort in the private warmth of his wings, Castiel's eyes took on a wild glaze as Sam eased closer, and he stopped Sam's progress with his fingers to Sam's lips.

"Gabriel told me that I should be honest," said Castiel very quickly. "He said seeking a consort, no matter how risky, should be done boldly." Sam held on to Castiel's hand, kissed his fingers gently, and Castiel's gaze dropped briefly down to watch. His next words came out on an exhale, awed: "I never thought it would be so frightening to want you this much."

Hearing it said plainly eased the uncertainty in Sam's chest. More than ever, Sam wanted to sweep in and kiss him, but Castiel kept speaking — nearly babbling in his rush to get everything said, even as his attention flicked back and forth between Sam's eyes and his mouth. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that Castiel could see what he wanted to do.

"I know that you want me," Castiel was saying. His lips twitched into an uncertain smile for an instant as he cupped Sam's face with tentative fingers. "From the moment I saw you, I knew, but you wanted Dean then too. You have him now. You should be satisfied, but you're not. You still want me." He bit his lip and peered into Sam's eyes as if he could parse out the reasoning if he just looked hard enough. "And now..." 

"And now," Sam said, "tonight is my last night here. I'm going to be coming back for Dean, but I want you to give me a reason to stay."

The urgency that had been thrumming through Castiel's fingertips melted away at once, and with a slight tilt to his head as his expression softened, Castiel drew Sam in, kissing him so sweetly that he gave into it with a helpless groan. It wasn't like any kiss Sam had ever had. Castiel's mouth moved gently almost like he was teasing the kiss out, and Sam felt distinctly as if something were being poured into him. It pooled low and warm in his belly, and he fought for breath as he swallowed it, wanting to take it all — to take everything Castiel saw fit to give him until he was full with it. 

When Castiel seemed prepared to withdraw — for breath or worse, to stop entirely — one of Sam's hands went to his cheek, guiding him back in as the other hand started pushing the chair out from between them. Sam didn't let the kiss remain gentle. He pushed harder, demanding more from it. He made the kiss into something that could be felt — made it rougher, made it bruise, made it more human — and as he toppled from the chair and into Sam's arms, Castiel whimpered.

Once he was sure that Castiel wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, Sam wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist. He felt safe in boldly sweeping his hands up to press at the vulnerable skin between Castiel's wings. Though Sam had never truly thought about the possibility of Castiel rejecting him, some part of him had always wondered if maybe he should consider it and be afraid. That possibility was entirely gone now, swept away by the pleased gasps that slipped between the part of their mouths and the hum of shivering wings around them. 

There was no end to the things he wanted and could want now, Sam realized with a terrified happiness, and as he thought about the things he wanted — right here and now, the things he wanted to do to Castiel and have done to him in return, until they were both boneless from exhaustion — Castiel keened above him, breaking away from the kiss to simply hold Sam close and hiss, "Yes," in his ear. "Yes, I want that."

Sam turned toward Castiel to ask what he meant and ended up seeking out his mouth again instead. Castiel kissed hungrily now, with teeth and tongue and a fervor of thoughts that sparked across his lips, telling Sam everything he wanted to know. Each breath was that much more information. Every flick of Castiel's tongue was another critical detail Sam needed. When Sam tipped back into the plush carpet, Castiel followed him with a warm hum as his wings flattened to either side. Castiel's body arched into a sinuous curve as Sam fit his hands over his hips, eager for a firm touch, and when he rolled the two of them together, Castiel moaned, wings twitching. 

It was bewilderingly hot to realize what he was vying for. When he hitched Castiel's knees higher and rocked into him and kissed him as deeply as he could, he knew what each contact was saying. What he pleaded for was nothing as simple as physical contact. He sought permanence in the length of Castiel's neck and connection as he slid his fingers under Castiel's loose robes. 

"Let me," Sam whispered, though he didn't need to. Even before he spoke the words, Castiel was lifting up onto his knees and bracing his elbows on either side of Sam's head. "That's it," he said and pressed his hand between their bodies, to where Castiel was bare underneath his night clothes. "Just like that."

"You want to see me." Castiel's voice was a fascinated rasp as Sam's hand moved over him, and as it pulled the pleasure from him with a firm grasp, his lashes fluttered. "Humans are—" His hips jerked, and he licked his lips when Sam's other hand steadied him, "—so amazingly physical. I thought I knew, but I didn't fully understand until..." He broke off with a groan and leaned down to kiss Sam, whispering, "Do you really like me like this?"

Sam laughed, conveying without words exactly how much he liked seeing Castiel made so wanton, and picked up the pace of his hand just to watch Castiel fall completely apart. He touched him how he liked to be touched and felt the echo of it under his skin, sliding deep and crawling into his bones. It was as if he wasn't entirely within his own body, so lost was he in the storming blue of Castiel's eyes, yet there was simmering warmth that bled into him from everywhere they touched. It invited intimacy, coaxing such an urgent arousal that Sam clutched harder at Castiel and opened up to it. 

One of Castiel's hands carded through his hair, petting him before taking hold. He held on to Sam by that grip as he sat back, pulling Sam with him and plying him with soft kisses until they were level. It suddenly seemed important to Castiel that they were on even ground, and Sam hummed in anticipation, happily rising into a sitting position and holding Castiel close in his lap. 

Flushed red, Castiel looked at him, mouth parted and eyes lidded heavily, and said, "Stay with me?" with a cautious hopefulness. "Let me keep you?"

Sam touched his forehead to Castiel's. There was no hesitation when he replied, "Yes." It was exactly what he wanted, after all. "Of course, yes."

At once, the moment snapped, and Castiel's wings wrapped tightly around them both — a dark curtain that separated them from the rest of the world. Castiel spilled over his fingers with a sharply surprised cry, and Sam helplessly followed, dragged over the edge untouched.

Of the things Sam had expected in the contented aftermath, Castiel shuddering and shivering as he held onto him was one of them and one in which Sam took some pride, but the creeping color-change of Castiel's wings was not. Starting at the root of his wings and spreading to the edges, the black color bled out of the feathers, leaving them bleached a pure white, and before Sam's eyes, Castiel's wings took on the burnished, golden hue of a successful union. 

"Wow," he breathed, honestly awed. 

The wings were beautiful — more than he'd imagined honestly — and with the wings pulled so tightly around them, Sam felt as if they were being bathed in a mellow light. The sense of privacy that came with the darkness was gone, yet Sam found he could only think of them nostalgically now. Like this, it was as if the wings' brightness assured there were no secrets, and come morning, when others saw them, they would know what had happened between Sam and Castiel tonight. 

Sam turned to look at Castiel, who was tucked into his arm and radiating satisfaction, and his breath caught as a whisper curled through his mind, sounding remarkably like Castiel in its tone. There were no precise words to be heard, but Sam understood them perfectly — felt them move through him with a sincerity that shook him.

"I love you too," he said and quickly broadcasted the sentiment mentally as well, clasping one of Castiel's hands to his chest. "Thank you for choosing me."

Castiel, lazily sleepy in the wake of his pleasure, nuzzled along Sam's jaw. "I'm thankful also," he said. "We chose each other, Sam. and I wouldn't change that for anything."


End file.
